


poppy

by mooselady



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, F/M, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooselady/pseuds/mooselady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>faith in demons and magic and the first week of winter</p>
            </blockquote>





	poppy

**Author's Note:**

> most of this was written in the bathtub when i sulked for hours and ate cookie dough icecream and listened to Fleetwood Mac. thanks stevie
> 
> enjoy ,loves
> 
> [magpielady.tumblr.com](https://magpielady.tumblr.com/)

He was waiting for the call.

The call, as it would be, would only carry itself through the winter winds of this frozen tundra when prey was close. He sat with his back to the fallen log, his weight sinking into the snow, small flurries of white catching in his hair. It was freezing, bitter and demanding of every semblance of heat from him, but the anticipation was hot, nearly burning with each passing moment. His ears were ringing for it, for that call.

That’s how it was. That’s how it had always been, even if his mother and father were now only a little lick of a flame in his memory, fading and dying everytime he went to sleep. With each passing winter, he’d pause at the grandfather clock in the foyer of his home and catch a glimpse of his reflection. There was his mother’s eyes and his father’s bones, but they were merely a collision of themselves, the only evidence left of their lives and their marriage and the family they worked so hard to protect. He blinked, and then it was black and he didn’t have to admit that  _he_  was their testimony.

He was forgetting his mother’s face. He was forgetting his father’s hands. He was forgetting the rare sunny days in the backyard, rolling with the dogs and picking flowers as atonement for his mother’s smile, for every mistake he had made and would make in the years to come.

It troubled him more than he would say that he had to imagine what they were like in order to fill the forgotten pieces.

In the wilderness, the snow was whirling about him as he sat with his back against a log. Sharpen the arrow, wait, and listen, then repeat. He was doing this like clockwork, over and over. At least he was alone, save for the birds in the trees.

They too were silent.

He shook involuntarily for a split second, only for the movement to cause him to slip and cut his thumb with the knife.

“ _Shit_ ,” he exhaled between clenched teeth. Pulling off the glove, Odin watched the blood condense then plop heavily unto the snow. He could count each violet splatter, some large, some small, a rorschach of something unnameable. 

Just when he thought he had figured out what the image looked like, he heard the call, high and shrill amidst the white air.

It was all put into practice then, his father’s lessons and his brother’s instruction. Odin slipped the glove back on, turning on his knees to peer over the log.

A rabbit, soft and round, hunched forward gingerly, bright black eyes staring at its surroundings. Odin squinted. It was disappointing, but one was better than nothing.

He placed the arrow in the bowstring, never taking his eyes off the animal. In one swift motion, he drew back, holding his breath and firing the arrow in its direction.

The rabbit fled, fast and light on its feet. The creature had been hit, however, much to his relief. A trail of blood, small and glossy red, was going to lead the way. His thumb was throbbing through the glove with each heartbeat when he heaved himself over the log, taking chase.

He ducked under a branch, over a creek, moving and skidding around trees.

The boy gasped and nearly fell backwards when a crow swooped from the treeline, nearly colliding with his face. At any other time, he would have yelled at it, but believing the nuisance to only be playing a game of hawk-dove, Odin continued running.

This was how it always went: running until he couldn’t breathe, running until it became too dark outside to see, running until he captured his prey, running until his legs gave up. It was better than returning with an excuse and an empty satchel.

The branches above rattled and creaked when finally he saw his target. It lay in the snow, hopping madly from one side to the next. The arrow had hit the animal in the chest, and its thrashing only made it plunge deeper into the matted redness of its fur.

Odin pursed his lips, looking away for a brief second to retrieve the knife from his bag when he heard a branch snap behind him. He spun on his heels, opening his mouth to speak when he saw the empty forest was the only spectator to his kill. He watched, eyes darting, until the fear subsided. With that, he approached closer, directing his attention back on the rabbit when he stopped.

He stopped, unable to move.

Unable to do anything but stare.

Something in him was beginning to scream, a splinter of ice rising to the surface but unable to find its way out. In the snow was a girl of only fifteen with an arrow plunged into her heart, panting and crying. She was mouthing, over and over with each agonizing breath,

Why.  

When Odin flung himself back and shut his eyes, he could see it, the shape of his blood in the snow. It was a girl of only fifteen, cornered, and crying. He had killed her. He had killed her.

There was a flash of white, and then he woke to discover he wasn’t breathing.

————————–

She was woken by the sound of the door opening then closing. His grip on her shoulders, shaking her fully awake, caused Ava to draw in a sharp breath, fluttering her eyes open, two sources of yellow light in this darkened room.

He was speaking as if the house were on fire.

“Ava, there’s n-not much time.”

The urgency of his voice caused her to bolt upright in bed, freeing herself of the covers. She listened, but could hear no one else awake, no footsteps trouncing through the Arrow household, nothing but his hands wringing together.

He was looking out the window.

“What time is it?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

2:44 am.

“Doesn’t m-matter, we should go, r-right now,”  he said back, pacing the floor. Ava stared, blinking rapidly and focusing on the glow shining from her on to him. He was dressed as if ready to go at a moment’s notice.

“Why?” she paused, yawning. “Why are you wearing boots? What’s going on?”

He clutched the wood bed-frame at her feet, eyes darting over the patterns in the blankets. Ava followed his eyes, over one stitched fox, two fox, three fox…

“I don’t understand,” she continued. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

Odin scratched his nails over the wood, responding with, “Everything.” He wasn’t looking away from the tiny foxes. They jumped over the blanket, spilling over the bedside. “S-S-Something bad is going to happen. We c-can’t stay here.”

Ava moved her legs over the side of the bed, taking in a deep breath. He was pale when she spoke, “What happened? Why would you come in here and not your brother’s room, or Magpie’s room?”

He shuffled on his feet, shrugging at thin air. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Ava traced her thumb over the blanket, feeling it’s wear and tear. Its softness was old. It had to be as old as she was.

“Did you have a bad dream?” she whispered in the dark. The low hum of her skin, radiant in its constant flow of magma, stirred when he brought his hands to his face. He was shaking. 

“Here,” Ava patted the bed. “Come here.”

He did so, reaching for the blanket and bringing it over his lap and entangling it in his hands, as if it were lifeline, a memory playing over and over that no one else could see or touch or feel.

“Is he here, right now? Pedri?”

Odin felt the chill before he looked up, scanning the room. He caught the silhouette of a giant shadow behind the curtains, staring back at him with three red eyes, cold and menacing amidst the darkness. Instantly he shouldered away, scooting towards the girl. He nodded, rolling his eyes in that direction.

Ava mirrored his nod, then quipped lightly, “Sleep with me tonight.”

She was already pulling at his arm to join her under the covers. Odin hesitated, chuckling nervously, peering at the closed door of the spare room she was sleeping in.

“Listen, it’s not a big deal,” she added in his silence. “I don’t take up that much room anyway.”

He began taking off his boots, waiting to see if she’d change her mind.

“Are you t-talking about the bed, or…are you talking about sl-sleeping in the spare room?”

“Hmm? What?” She hit at her pillow, sending dust into the air. “I meant the bed. I don’t take up the whole bed.” She watched him roll unto his back, yanking off the boot and then setting it on the ground gingerly. He was still hesitant, eyeing the empty space beside her.

“C’mon,” she beseeched, placing the fox blanket between them. “Fall asleep. You’ll be okay here.”

Odin crawled to the spot, moving underneath the covers, letting half of his body hang off the side of the bed while he stared at the ceiling.

This wasn’t bad, he decided. She was like a nightlight. He could focus on her light instead of Pedri’s eyes, always watching, always planning, scheming…

“So what was the dream about?” Ava asked, turning on her side to face him. She was mindlessly tugging at a string on the blanket, the tip of her horn digging into the pillow. 

Odin swallowed, rapidly blinking as he answered, “I don’t kn-know. It w-was a bad dream. There was b-blood.”

She pulled at the string, nearly severing it from the blanket. Odin hoped it wouldn’t break apart. The loose string had been there for years, ever since he was a child.

“Really? I had a bad dream too,” she remarked, lowering her head to rest on the pillow. 

“Wh-What happened?”

“Well. I was in a forest. There was snow and it was cold, and I just remember running from something  _awful_. A black shadow monster, with fangs and claws. It caught me. And I was crying but it just stared at me until I woke up.”

She yawned, adding breathily, “My shadow dog.”

Odin listened, then asked quickly, “D-Did it kill you?”

She was drifting off to sleep, answering with shut eyes.

“No. You can’t die in a dream, Odin.”

He was silent for a moment, which then collected into minutes. He couldn’t wait hours, so he whispered as quietly as he could, “Ava, I th-think I had the s-same dream.”

When she didn’t say anything, he realized she was already asleep.

The grandfather clock in the foyer was ticking, and with its familiarity and her warmth and the baby blanket his mother had given him tucked in safely between the pair, he closed his eyes until he too could finally fall asleep.

A rhythm of white noise crept into his ears. There is a forgotten place in-between; of being awake, of dreaming. It happened slowly, and then, in a rush.

———————-

She was burning up.

At first, the heat was all around her, then it was inside her, swirling and licking at her bones, til the heat was coughed right from her lungs. It spilled past yellowed milk-teeth and rolled off the tip of her tongue until plunging to the floor beneath her.

The mess caused her to look at her feet, which she realized weren’t inside black Mary Jane’s but rather exposed and bare. She curled the toes into the soil, cracking each flashy claw with satisfaction.

If anything, this just made Ava feel very peculiar, so she bent her knees to examine her toes more carefully. Oh. The earth was black. It was burning.

She looked up to see the trees, bare and scorched. If she was the fire, then the girl believed there was no one to blame but her for setting this forest ablaze.

This only made her smile, hands on her hips, thinking very smugly of herself, “That’ll teach them.”

She wasn’t sure who she was trying to teach, or if there was anyone deserving of a lesson, yet this didn’t stop her from kicking at the ash, sending a plume into the air. It delighted her, this destruction.

But as she watched the ash whirl and tumble back to the ground, a pang of remorse filled her heart.

All she had now was that fire.

She was going to turn to it, the heat, and scald the ashes even more when she noticed a fox in the distance, poking its nose into a dilapidated log. It pricked its ears, raising its head as they stared at each other.

Then, without a sound, it trotted away.

“Wait!” Ava cried. She took chase, moving nimbly among the burnt wood and smoldering soil.

She rounded a corner, slicing through the air as she stooped to grab it by the scruff of its neck.

The fox yelped, scrambling to free itself, wildly thrashing at the air. It looked her in the eyes, baring the tips of its teeth before lunging at her face, nearly snapping the skin off her nose.

Ava laughed.

“I’ve got teeth just like you!” 

She used her other hand to pull back her lip, exposing the crooked points of her canines.

The fox only continued its struggle, this time gathering enough strength to twist its body and sink its bite into her wrist.

With a sharp gasp, she flung the creature to the ground. Ava wasn’t sure why. She had felt worse pain than that.

It was her second mistake, because the animal only lay there, heaving with each breath, struggling to allow air into its lungs through its broken body.

Ava wasn’t new to death either, so why feel grief for something that wanted nothing to do with her in the first place?

Still, she knelt beside it, watching its eye roll upwards in agony, a high whine leaving its toothy mouth.

The girl looked from her wrist, comparing the bite mark to the sharp points of ivory flashing in the light. She wasn’t new to death. She wasn’t new to hurting others.

There was something in its mouth, wrapped around the crown of those similar teeth. She reached for it when a sudden uproar of cawing filled the air.

Ava looked for the sound, high in the dead trees, reverberating in the dead air. The last surviving smoky pines were covered in birds, all black and large and very, very restless as they watched below.

“What do you want?” she called.

The birds crowed back,

“We’ve come for the boy!”

This caused more restlessness.

“It’s time to eat!”

“I want first pickings of his eyes!”

“If you’ve the eyes, I want his liver!”

Ava looked to the fox. His eye shone wide with fear.

“But he’s not dead yet!” she shot back.

The corvids laughed, ruffling their feathers in amusement.

“Doesn’t matter! He’s good as dead, good as dead as this forest!”

“ _I’m starving!_ ”

“ _I want to pick his bones clean!_ ”

The squawking heightened its clamor, causing the girl to shout, “Shut up! All of you!” She hovered over the fox, scooping him into the crook of her elbow.

“Why would a bunch of stupid birds want to eat a fox anyway!”

The largest crow flapped its wings in delight.

“Fox?  _Fox?_  We see no fox here! Only a murderer with her victim!”

Ava stared, the lava underneath her skin halting, making her feel suddenly too cold when she turned to look back at the creature in her arms. All she could see was a boy, skinny and tall and broken, his head hanging awkwardly over her arm. She couldn’t look away from the pale of his throat, exposed to the sky.

He looked too young to be dead, too feeble to ever have a chance anyway, and the feeling of Odin Arrow’s weight, heavy beneath her arms was enough for her to jolt herself awake from the nightmare with a single terrified scream.

———————-

There was a flurry of kicking and thrashing to free themselves of each other.

A mesh of swears and sharp breaths conjoined with each other, awakening both of them from the quiet of slumber as Ava shoved at his chest with enough force to cause Odin to entangle himself in the bed-sheets, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

She clutched at her chest, feeling the lava and blood and fear swim under the surface of alien skin. The girl felt the bed-sheets around her before exhaling shakily, “It was just a dream.” The assurance, although weak and halfhearted, was meant for her and her alone, but Odin replied from the floor, “No? N- _No_?? Th-That was a n-nightmare.”

Ava poked her head over the edge of the bed, her breathing ragged, the heat of her skin flourishing in the nighttime cold of this home.

Odin lifted himself up, rubbing at the back of his head.

When they looked at each other, faces inches apart, the pieces fell into place.

“So you s-saw that?” “You were there.”

A brief moment passed. They opened their mouths at the same time to answer, then promptly fell short.

“You were in my dream.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You were in m-my dream.”

Ava settled back, clutching the fox blanket closer.

“Did we have the same dream?” she breathed.

He stood, the bed covers bunched in his arms. He faltered, still shaking from the terror. “I s-saw the birds. I saw you. You-”

He stopped, edging away.

“Y-You killed me.”

“In a dream!” she shot back.

He remembered the arrow plunged into her heart. He was getting nervous again, but this time for a whole new set of worries. It was exhausting, this never-ending barrage of worry, aisle after aisle, tick after tick…

“Why is th-this happening?” he asked, dropping the blankets back onto the bed.

Ava thought, replaying it over and over. The memory was fading, but she could still see his throat, broken and bent. “Maybe it has something to do with Wrathia, or Pedri. Or Wrathia  _and_  Pedri. I don’t know.”

“ _Great_ ,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “As if I w-wanted anyone else in my h-head.”

He brought a knee unto the bed, slowly sitting down at the very end. It creaked under his weight.

With a deep breath, he laid back onto the bed, running his hand through his hair, then picking at the loose string of the blanket. “It’s all m-meshed up. It’s all blurry.”

He sounded exhausted. Ava ran her tongue over her teeth, feeling the bumpiness and crookedness of her bones. It was all out of sorts, this body. All points and ragged edges, nothing round and soft about her.

She shrugged, speaking as she glanced up at the window to see the first ray of sunlight shine through the curtain.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” the girl whispered, running her thumb over the tiny cotton foxes. Odin opened his eyes to see her, bent over that security blanket, scarlet hair falling over her shoulder. The lava that relentlessly pushed and tugged throughout her body, always restless and never halting, churned over her shoulders.

The scars that shone there, quick and flashy, were easily overlooked unless you spent as much time as he did wondering, questioning, pondering their cause. The curiosity burned out the moment she looked up again.

“Odin, I-”

Olai’s footsteps were heard thumping quickly down the stairs and into the hall, his voice reverberating, “You seen your brother?”

A small voice answered with a hushed giggle. After a moment, the door swung open to reveal the eldest Arrow, who promptly waltzed into the room without regard.

“’Morning,” he stated gruffly, pushing back the curtains to let the latest trickles of sunrise shine into the room. Odin sat up, rubbing at the tiredness in his eyes as Olai announced, “It’s gonna be a tough early winter this year. The herds’ moving south already.”

Odin pushed away the covers, stealing a glance at Ava who only listened with half-lidded eyes.

“All I’m asking of you is to chop firewood this morning for tonight, okay?” the Arrow brother said. He made to leave the room, but before exiting, he whistled low, giving a quick shake of his head.

“Rough night?” he asked.

Odin froze, meeting Ava’s feared gaze, as Olai continued, “Your arms? And I thought I was a fitful sleeper.” He turned, stepping backwards and pointing to his own face, “I’d take a look at  _those_  too.”

He waited until Olai left before directing his attention at his arms.

He hadn’t realized until now that they were covered in scratch marks. Stumbling over his feet, Odin left the room, going into the bathroom and pulling at the lightbulb’s chain to see his reflection in the mirror.

His brother was right. A few dull purple lines, already rapidly healing, tore down the length of his face. Odin swallowed, rotating his arms in front of him, taking note of the light scratches.

He was picking at a piece of dry skin, a blotchy burn-mark etched into the underside of his arm, when Ava spoke from the doorway.

“Don’t sleep with me anymore.”

Odin startled, his injured arm still exposed to the chill of the morning air.

Tiredly she added, “Not until I figure out how to make these dreams stop.”

Odin nodded, catching a glimpse of a scratch going down her neck, ending at her collarbone, but before he could say anything, she was already gone, a mere ghost in the eeriness they had created in their wake.

He tried to remember, tried to put the pieces together, but he could only see the string unraveling before him like translucent ribbon.

Over the course of the morning, through breakfast and getting dressed and finding layers of the Arrow sisters’ clothes that fit her, Ava counted the scratches on her body, small and faint and hardly worth paying attention to. They were healed completely by mid-morning, but she couldn’t stop tracing her hand over them, one by one, feeling them disappear from her touch. This body wasn’t built to last or sustain for too long, but for the time being, it was meant to endure.

A scratch, dry and unnoticeable to the wandering eye, refused to heal on Odin’s left hand, a weak shade of violet crystallizing between his pinky and ring finger.

Ava stared, and stared, but could never remember her reason for injuring him.

——————–

By lunchtime, she was ecstatic to share the plan with him.

After answering a brief, and callously demanding call from Wrathia, Ava received a plan of action from the Vengess Queen.

“I’ve given you a parchment with instructions,” the older woman stated through the childlike phone. “And a vial for the spell.”

Ava lifted the scroll from the wooden chest embedded in her. She eyed it, asking, “And you’re sure this will separate me and Odin’s dreams?”

“Who?” Wrathia asked, clearly preoccupied with what Ava could only imagine as redecorating her now shared mind, or sharpening long, ghastly claws.

“ _Odin_ ,” Ava huffed. “Pedri’s host. You should probably learn his name, if he’s going to join me on-”

“Right, right, I know. O _-din_. Yes. And you’ve been asking about Pedri?”

Ava glanced over the scroll, reading the instructions that seemed to be hastily scratched with red ink.

Or blood. She shivered, answering, “Yeah, Odin says he’s around alot. Listen, is Pedri…” Ava hesitated. “…bad? Odin acts really weird when I ask about him…”

“My husband is  _precise_ ,” she spat in disgust at the ignorance. “He knows how to persuade. Now stop wasting time with stupid questions. Get the ingredients for the spell, and do exactly as the instructions say.”

Ava didn’t understand the hollowness she felt after hearing the dial click shut, indicating that she was again alone in the bathroom. When the drip of the faucet became too maddening, too loud in this emptiness, Ava stored Wrathia’s instructions in the chest, closing it shut and covering it once more with her sweater.

Joining him outside, Ava marched proudly to the spot where Odin was chopping firewood, its crack rolling through the surrounding forest with each swing of the axe.

She ignored the way she tensed at the impact, standing tall and proclaiming, “I’ve found a way for us to stop sharing dreams.”

Odin paused, placing the head of the axe to the ground and resting his weight on the hilt. “R-Really? How?” He wiped at the sweat on his brow as Ava explained, “Well, you know how Wrathia is some sort of expert in magic? She came up with a spell that will separate our…” She drifted off mid-sentence when Odin shook his head, frowning at the ground.

“What?” she asked, crossing her arms in irritation. Odin kicked at the grass, brittle and dying in this barren winter. 

“Can you really tr-trust her? I mean…l-look at what she’s done to you.”

Ava shifted from one foot to the other, blinking rapidly, unable to look directly at him as he added with finality, “It’s your c-call.”

He hoisted the axe in both hands, taking a step back. Ava followed, moving away as he swung the axe once more, cracking the wood in half.

She realized the intent of his words as he began gathering the firewood in his arms, stacking it one on top of the other.

 _He trusts me_ , she beamed.

“I say,” she said, bending down to help pick up the wood, “we should definitely do it. It’s one spell, and it looks pretty simple.”

Odin waited as she stacked the firewood high in her arms. Unable to see in front of her, the girl followed the sound of his voice to the house, hearing the crunch of his boots match her’s along the cold earth.

“So t-tonight?” he asked her, turning his neck to see her from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah!” she answered brightly, following close behind. 

For once, the heat inside her, always burning, always brimming, didn’t incite anger, or hatred. It slowed, and she felt warmth at the thought of being useful, of being first choice instead of replaceable.

“We’ll do it after dinner,” she stated, doing her best at taking charge. 

Odin nodded, opening the screen door for her with his knee, letting her go in first.

Wearily, he looked to the sky, noticing the winds drastically change from south to north, causing the tops of the trees to relent and lean with its pull.

His eyes met Pedri’s, who watched with crossed arms at the top of the stairs. It was bizarre, to see him so out in the open, and the longer he stared, the more the wraith seemed to come closer, the smoke and haze curling around them both. The teenager shivered, playing it off as the wind’s chill as he hurried back inside, slamming the screen door behind him.

——————

Ava learned quickly that dinner with the Arrows wasn’t just a time to eat. Unlike her days spent in the cafeteria, alone and in the corner, the Arrow siblings made sure to keep mealtime, above all else, loud, uncensored, and talkative.

She spoke up a few times, but mostly waited for the siblings to ask her something, or to acknowledge her in some way first.

She also learned how much pride they took in their stories.

Olai usually began a story, speaking gravely at first to captivate his siblings, then louder until it reached its twist, causing the twins to laugh, or gasp, or deliver their own snide remarks in reaction, depending on the delivery of its ending.

Ava noticed that Odin’s were always met with an exasperated, “Odin,  _why_  do your stories have to be so depressing?” This was if he even finished the story, as his sisters tended to drift off half-way, claiming that “he can’t tell a good story because he has to stop and think about it.”

Magpie offered gingerly from the other side of the table, “Why don’t you just tell, and think later?” To which Odin sighed, “F-Forget it. L-L-Listen to Olai. I don’t c-care.”

This particular evening of Ava and Odin’s planned spellwork, Olai began the conversation, except he spoke to Ava directly.

“So, Ava.”

She looked from her plate, halting.

“We’ve allowed you in our home, let you wear our clothes, eat our food.”

Odin halted too, setting his fork down and slowly turning to face his brother.

“But we know next to nothing about you. So-” Olai sat back, clapping his hands together briskly. “Tell us about Ava Ire.”

She cleared her throat, pushing back a strand of hair over pointed ears.

“Well,” she began, hands in her lap, nervously pushing her feet against each other, “I like drawing. I’m not good at it.” She laughed, but it sounded fake and forced, so she quickly continued, “I like sleeping. I like the cold-”

“No you don’t,” Olai interrupted. “You hate this winter. You’re always complaining about it to him.” He nodded at Odin. 

Ava shifted uneasily.

“I…I  _do_  like the cold…I…It’s just…”

“She l-likes flowers,” Odin blurted out. 

Olai nodded, scooting his chair forward and picking up his fork.

“What kind of flowers?” he asked, cutting at the deer meat on his plate.

“Poppies,” she answered, mirroring the eldest Arrow and picking up her own fork. The twins watched, violet eyes going from one to the other as the conversation shifted. 

“Poppies…poppies…” Olai looked to the ceiling, then pointed his fork at her. “Eternal sleep, right?”

Ava rubbed at her face, studying the food on her plate. This meal would have been better if she didn’t feel like she was being interrogated.

“Yeah,” she replied, trying to stay cheerful. “Eternal sleep. And dreaming.”

Olai tapped his fork against his plate, stating, “Eternal sleep sounds an awful lot like dying.”

“It’s a p-pretty f-flower, okay?” Odin intervened. “Y-You’re making her uncomfortable w-w-with all the questions.”

His brother looked at him with listlessness before beginning one of his stories.

“Did Odin ever tell you about when he almost died?”

The room fell silent. Magpie leaned to the side, placing her elbow on the table and resting her head in her hand, refusing to look up from her plate.

Ava shook her head, picking at the potatoes, mixing them with the peas. Her food was getting cold.

“We barely had enough food to survive. And he-,” Olai pointed at his brother, narrowing his gaze, “-gave his portions to his sisters.”

Olai shrugged. “Not a big deal. Seemed like we had a martyr in the family, but-”

He paused, laughing to himself.

“But see, when we  _did_  start having enough food to go around, this dipshit here _refused_  to eat. Got sick as a dog. Could barely stand up, or walk around. Thought for sure he was going to die.”

Ava realized she had been holding her breath, finally exhaling when Olai stopped talking.

Odin was tracing patterns into his food, still and solemn.

“Or, looking back even further,” Olai continued, looking to the ceiling, retracing his memories. “There was that time he ran away during a snowstorm. Mom had a breakdown from that little episode-”

“E-E-Enough!” Odin yelled, the clang of his forgotten silverware crashing to his plate. His sisters jerked at the noise, watching him with wide eyes as Olai continued, “I’m only letting her know just who you  _are_ , brother.”

He turned to the redhead, stating with biting force, “Did he also mention the part where he stopped taking baths?”

Ava jerked when she heard the abrupt slide of Odin’s chair scrape against the floor, watching as he walked away, muttering “goodnight” under his breath before leaving the dining room.

“Now he takes showers like it’s a goddamn sacrament,” Olai grumbled, as if he hadn’t taken notice of his brother’s absence. 

Olai shouted as the sounds of Odin’s footsteps could be heard going up the stairs, “It’s your turn to do dishes tonight!”

The response given to him was the slam of Odin’s bedroom door.

“Ignore it,” he said to Ava. “He has issues. We just never talk about them aloud.”

Crow and Raven exchanged uneasy glances, looking to Magpie, who only flashed a disgusted look in her brother’s direction before continuing her dinner.

“Did he stop taking baths because he’s scared of water?” Ava asked, mostly to the now empty seat beside her. 

“Mhmm,” Olai murmured, swallowing his food with a nod. “He had a near heart attack if he even got near a tub. He got over it.” He mumbled into his drink. “Eventually.” 

“But not completely?” she persisted.

Olai stared, answering with a dull, “No.”

Ava turned, listening to Magpie answer her from across the table. 

“He’s still scared of water.” 

“And  _now_ ,” Olai emphasized, “he takes showers as if the world’s ending and the tub’s his fallout shelter.” He met Ava’s line of sight, tapping the side of his head. “Something up here just isn’t right with him.”

The dining room was quiet after that. A few words were exchanged about chores, but other than the incessant ticking from the heirloom grandfather clock in the hall adjacent, no noise could be heard.

Ava didn’t listen, nor did she try to talk herself out of the bad feeling forming in her gut, churning like blackened tar. It didn’t boil, only simmered, and as the sun fell below the horizon, darkening the house with its absence, Ava grew quieter and quieter until she was sure she too would fade out just like the sun.

——————

Ava joined Magpie in washing the dishes, and the routine of the work gave ample time for her to replay the spell Wrathia had given her over in her memory.

The eldest Arrow daughter, who was usually quiet, observant and clever in her findings and crafty colloquialisms, was no exception to her namesake. Ava listened to her, quickly realizing she  _was_  loud. The redhead stood to the side, drying off each dish as Magpie handed them to her, quipping on how awful dinner had been earlier. Standing straight with an aloof gaze on her face, Magpie mocked her eldest brother, word for word.

Ava laughed, remarking, “You’re really good at copying voices.” 

“Not just that,” she stated, handing her a dish with a grin. “I’m really good at mimicking bird calls.”

She nodded, replying with a simple “oh”, when Magpie pursed her lips, whistling out the tune of a songbird. She eyed Ava, her violet eyes familiar and warm as Ava mirrored her smile.

“It’s fun. And it drives people crazy because they think it’s real. I can teach you, if you want,” she offered, taking another dish from the sink. 

She looked into the plate’s reflection she was drying off. Her enthusiasm was short-lived as she stared into it, only seeing the murky shades of red scarlet and royal gold collide into each other, a watercolor painting of a girl she didn’t want to see. 

Now she remembered why she had been avoiding mirrors.

“Is something wrong?” Magpie asked. “Did I not wash that one completely?”

“No,” Ava answered, placing the plate in the cabinet above her. “It’s fine.”

“Magpie?” she began, anxiously folding the dishrag over and over. “What was Olai talking about when he said Odin ran away?”

Magpie sighed, blowing a piece of black hair from her face.

“It wasn’t that long ago. He stopped talking, and then Dad lost his patience…”

She promptly handed her another plate.

“I think he had enough. So he ran away during a really bad snowstorm. Everyone said he was going to-”

She paused, and Ava spoke quickly when she realized the other girl was on the verge of tears.

“You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay,” she interjected in a rush. 

Magpie opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when they heard the creak of the stairs.

A shadow neared the kitchen, the light revealing Odin’s slouch as he approached the pair of them with a quiet hello. He joined Magpie at her side, reaching into the sink’s water to help.

It was with the excuse of exhaustion that Ava and Odin said goodnight, both of them retreating into his bedroom to execute the spell while the rest of the house slept, unaware and unsuspecting.

———————-

“So, l-let me get this straight,” he spoke from his seat on the floor of his bedroom. “Your s-side of this ‘Pact’ is a n-new  _life_?”

Ava rolled her eyes at his patronizing tone, replying, “Yes. I want a do-over. A second chance.” She was going through the shelves in his room, scanning through the books and picking up the bizarre keepsakes.

She nearly broke a jar of bird bones in her hand when he laughed.

“Ava, that’s r-r-ri-”

He laughed quietly to himself, to which she slowly turned to face him.

“That’s r- _ridiculous_ ,” he finally managed to say.

The heat beneath her skin flared, bristling as she said, “You wouldn’t understand.”

He shrugged, scratching at his face when she continued with biting force, “Why do you have so many weird things in here anyways?” She shook the jar of bird bones with wide eyes before setting it back on the shelf. Stepping over a stack of unfinished canvases and paint water, the girl muttered, “This place is a mess.” She sat in front of him.

“I don’t really c-care,” he reprimanded. “It’s m-my room, I can do whatever I want.”

She tapped a sharp nail against the wood floor, narrowing her eyes before blurting out, “Why is it ridiculous? To want a new life? Hmm?”

Odin answered her, scooting backwards to lean his head against the bed, “I d-don’t believe in starting over.”

Ava only stared, deadpanning with melodic spite, “Oh, right. You believe in suffering. You’re so melodramatic.”  After a few moments of silence she threw her hand in the air as if to say,  _So?_

He sighed, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t you h-have some way f-for us to stop sharing dreams?”

“Yeah,” she stated, opening the drawer to her chest. She could feel Odin’s eyes look over the top of the drawer in curiosity, to which she hissed at him, “Do you mind?” 

He snickered to himself, commenting, “It’s not everyday you s-see something like that.”

Her face turned a blotted red as she mumbled, “You’ve seen it before, s’nothin new…” She fumbled for the parchment, discarding it on the floor, then reached for the vial, closing the drawer shut with enough force for her to wince.

Ava read over it as Odin took the vial from her hand, tipping it back and forth to watch its contents shift back and forth.

“Looks like f-flower petals,” he stated, squinting his eyes. “All cr-crushed up.”

She spoke the list aloud, letting the instructions be said in careless fashion.

“Place a bowl between the two dreamers, empty flower petals into the bowl, spill shared blood together…”

She paused, bringing the list closer to the concerned expression on her face.

“It says once it’s all mixed you have to breathe it in.”

Odin cocked a brow. “ _Just_  m-me?”

Ava answered, still going over the instructions, “That’s what it says.”

He scratched at the floorboard, his head leaning on his hand. She eyed him quickly before reading the final conclusion to this spell.

_Kiss him._

The lava coursing through her body burned, causing her face to erupt in a flurry of fresh neon orange embarrassment. She cursed Wrathia, for this had to be some sort of cruel joke, a play on her emotions.

Decidedly, in a heated rush of the moment, Ava ignored the spell’s ending, hastily shoving the parchment back into her chest’s drawer.

“Y-You okay?” he questioned, noticing the glowing hue of her body.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving at the air. “Let’s just get this over with. Hand me an empty jar or something.”

He dropped to his side, scooting paintings and sketchbooks aside, journals and dusty books to the darkest parts under his bed before finding a jar. He examined it, brushing the dirt off before placing it between them. Ava took the vial, shaking the dried petals before popping the cork off and dropping it into the bowl. It tumbled to the bottom like ashes, a beautiful crimson color that looked nothing short of powdered blood.

“Get your pocketknife,” she directed. Odin chewed the side of his cheek, pulling the knife from his pocket and opening it carefully with long fingers. 

“This is s-so weird,” he muttered to himself, handing over the knife. 

Without a second thought, Ava took the knife by its handle, using the blade to cut her palm. The blood flowed, steaming hot, specks of magma freckling her last bit of humanity. She handed Odin the knife. Hesitant, his eyes flickered from the fresh cut on her hand before digging the tip into his palm. He sucked in a sharp breath as he sliced downwards, causing dark violet to seep from the surface.

Ava put her hand in front of her, intent on him joining her. Odin looked from his hand, the purple tear in his skin already crystallizing and healing at the corners. With one fell swoop, he locked hands with her, the blood being forced to collide and mix with the pressure of their interlocked skin. It combined into a deep red-purple, dripping amaranthine into the jar below it.

Ava watched the blood pooling and covering the petals darkly, whispering, “It’s kind of pretty.”

The hot sting in his hand where the cut was made began to lessen. “It’d be p-prettier if it wasn’t b-blood.”

She frowned, recalling the next step, “Now I guess we just mix it up.” They let go of their hold on each other, the cut nothing but a faint memory on Ava’s hand as Odin wiped the rest of his blood on his jeans. She lifted the jar, shaking it from side to side in a stirring motion. The dried petals seemed to absorb the blood like water, and in the movement it disintegrated and curled into the air, smoky and weightless.

She handed Odin the jar, but as he took it from her, she could hear the odd estranged beat of his heart, nervous and cautious. He stared at it when she spoke, “It’s okay. You can trust me.”

He swallowed, catching her smile. “And you’re s- _sure_  this will stop the dr-dreams?”

Ava nodded. This was her chance at responsibility, so with the confidence of a dead Queen’s ghost she spoke, “Yes. I’m sure.”

With that, he relented, leaning forward and breathing in the smoke with one deep breath.

He veered back, coughing into his elbow.

“Well?” Ava asked.

“It’s-” he stopped to cough again, eyes watering, “-r-really,  _really_ strong.”

“Hmm,” she sounded, tilting her head to watch the petals finally curl into the air, erasing their existence. “Aren’t you used to it? You smoke all the time.”

“Y-Yeah, but nothing l-like  _that_ ,” he reasoned, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in distaste. “Was th-that everything the list said to do?”

Ava looked away, seeing the final instruction replay in her memory, before answering, “Yes. That was everything.”

He stood, but wobbled when he was upright, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. Ava stood too, questioning him when he stared ahead like a deer in the headlights.

“Are you okay?”

He snapped out of his daze, replying, “I’m j-just lightheaded.” He rubbed at his eyes again, careful not to touch the healing scab on his palm. “I stood up t-too fast.”

She smoothed out her dress, her toes curling inside the wool socks given to her, stating with as much confidence as she could muster, “Well, um. I think, that was good teamwork, and um-”

She inched away. “Goodnight Odin.”

The walk to the door was silent, but before she set foot in the hall, she turned, asking, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

The older boy yawned, nodding, “Yeah. Goodnight.”

Ava shut his bedroom door, careful to not make a sound as she tread softly back to the spare room.

It was difficult to fall asleep that night, not just because of the creeping cold that entered the house like a wily old fox, but because she expected the door to open at any moment.

With who, she wasn’t quite sure of.

Instead, she fell asleep, and dreamed, and when she opened her eyes the next morning, the door was still closed.

——————–

This was the odd, uneven time of the seasons. As the planet moved its axis further from warmth, so did the plants and animals, who were persuaded to move their herds south.

Mornings were routine, and in daylight frost, glassy sheets of ice covering the land and its trees, Olai, Odin, and Ava roved the hillsides, through forests and embankments and over creeks of still-moving water. It became a blur, this white landscape where the pines stretched to a sky that had no end, no distinct line between where the snow stopped and the clouds began.

She was learning, and watching with an interest she couldn’t muster in her classes at school. They knew the land well, with a respect and pride unique to their family: this was  _their_  home, their grounding, their heritage.

It was in the split second before firing the arrow, or pulling the trigger of a rifle, that Ava found relishing. Something inside, something alien, memories that didn’t belong to her caused the excitement of a hunt to be the most anticipated part of her day. She realized this when she sighed, treading through the snow beside the taller boy towards their most recent kill.

“I missed this.”

Odin laughed in disbelief.

“You’ve done th-this before?”

Ava scoffed, “What? Of course not.”

“But you j-just said you m-missed this.”

The girl shook her head, the bite of the cold causing her nose to wrinkle.

“No…I…I don’t know.”

She watched as Olai drew his knife, digging it into the elk’s side.

“I…I’ve never hunted before,” she stated quietly.

They made their way home, the leftovers of the creature the only gravestone the trio left behind. Olai huffed, his face unreadable in the dying light, “Don’t wanna be out after dark.”

“Why?” Ava piped up, but she was soon answered with a long, distant howl from over the hills. She drew in on herself as Olai laughed, answering, “We aren’t the only hunters out here.”

The first week of winter hung above their heads like an icicle, hovering and threatening, if someone dared to shake and disrupt the routine of the household.

So with this, Ava did what she could, helping with chores, carrying supplies on their hunts, and listening to the advice of a boy who found good company in her presence.

One night after a particularly tedious day, Ava lay in the armchair of their living room, drowsily watching the fire in the hearth move and crackle. Her eyes moved from the heat, to Odin, one after another, until she asked aloud, “What are you drawing?”

He looked up from his seat on the ground where he bent over a pad of paper filled with lines and scribbles.

“J-Just things,” he answered with a shrug.

“ _Just things_ ,” she mocked, exaggerating his tone. Giggling, she asked again, “What things?”

He looked back to the paper, tapping his pen nervously.

“Y-You,” he stammered. 

“Really?” She sat up, stretching her neck to see. In the dim glow of the firelight she could barely make out the outline of her face. When she caught sight of two horns on either side of her head, she sat back, frowning.

“It’s good,” she said dryly. 

Ava looked around them, taking note of the unusual emptiness of the living room.

“Odin?”

He looked up once more.

“What does Pedri look like?” she questioned.

The girl could hear it, the familiar way his heart picked up pace. To anyone else, his body was doing a decent job of keeping that anxiety hidden, but she knew, she knew the fear inside him.

She waited patiently while he flipped the sketchbook to a new page. He set to work, rapidly drawing line after line with a noticeable tremor to his hand. It was quick, sporadic even, and Ava felt a pang of worry for him as he huddled further into himself before handing her the sketchbook shakily.

The pupil of her eyes narrowed, studying it.

“This…is your demon?”

Her eyes wandered back and forth. He looked like Wrathia in some regard, but she couldn’t help the revolt she felt towards the drawing, from the skeletal hands to the three eyes, settling on the skulls wrapped around his neck.

“You didn’t kn-know what h-he looked like?” Odin asked.

“No.” Ava flicked her eyes from the teenager to the drawing. “I saw a silhouette in Wrathia’s book. That’s it.”

She handed it back, saying, “It’s messier than your other drawings.”

He inhaled deeply, coughing and covering his mouth when he exhaled.

“I kn-know. I’m w-worried,” he confessed.

Ava asked, leaning forward, “Why?”

His indigo eyes were exhausted when they met her’s.

“It’s because h-he’s behind you r-r-right now.”

——————-

The days grew shorter. Nights were bitterly cold, demanding in that Ava woke multiple times, only to find herself alone in the darkness, shaking and frustrated with how persistent this winter was.

She didn’t see Odin in her dreams anymore.

After dinner, they sat side by side on the couch, speaking in hushed voices as the sun’s last rays shone through the curtains.

“I don’t see you in my dreams anymore. I think the spell worked,” Ava whispered.

He shook his head. Up close she could see the dark circles under his eyes.

“I don’t dr-dream anymore.”

Ava veered back in alarm.

“What?”

Odin eyed his sisters, who were tumbling, pushing and shouting at each other in a wrestling match on the circular rug.

“I don’t dream, and I d-don’t sleep much either,” he admonished seriously.

He rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes tightly when Crow pulled Raven to the floor, causing her to shriek in laughter.

“Can b-both of you kn-knock it off!” he yelled at the pair. Magpie looked up from her spot on the floor, where she was judging the twins on who could be the sneakiest in their game.

“What’s your problem?” Crow sneered as Raven crawled unto the couch, using her weight to shove at his shoulder. 

“I’m t-tired,” he explained, knocking into Ava as Raven continued to push at him.

“Then leave,” Crow stated. 

“Leave the l-living r-room for being tired?!” he shot back, bristling at her condescending tone.

“Odin, you should fight me,” Raven declared, hanging onto his arm until she was nearly falling off the edge of the couch. “I know how to do a really good choke-hold now.”

He scoffed, getting up and letting her slide back to the floor.

“Ava, you’re scary,” Crow remarked. “You fight Odin.”

Raven gasped, sitting up and agreeing with a wide smile. She turned to her twin, snickering darkly.

Odin turned, flashing a quick glance between himself and the girl before fumbling through his words.

“She’s pr-probably tired from t-today’s hunt, l-leave her alone.”

“ _Or_  you’re just  _scared_ ,” Raven cooed with sing-song words.

“I’m not s-s-scared!” he shot back, but the words lost their intensity when Crow rolled her eyes, her sister already pulling Ava’s hands, bringing her to her feet with a sly smile.

“Then prove it,” Crow demanded, using both hands to spin him around and push him forward. 

He ran into the shorter girl, hesitating with an icy coldness. Ava looked from him, to his sisters, who watched with eagerness, laughing to themselves.

She sighed, stepping onto the circular rug, stiff and motionless as Crow called out from the couch, “Only rule is don’t get thrown out of the circle.” She pointed at the rug.

“Wasn’t there another rule?” Raven whispered. 

“No hitting,” Crow answered her back. “But even babies know that.”

“Well, go on!” she shouted at them.

Odin rolled his eyes, squaring his shoulders and bending his knees as Ava laughed apprehensively, looking to the side and placing a bare, clawed foot in the opposite direction. They circled each other, one foot over the other, watching and waiting.

“Oh my god, quit standing there and fight!” Crow repeated.

Ava moved first, unsure but fluid in stepping forward with a turn of her ankle. She pulled his arm over her shoulder, flipping the teenager over and unto the floor.

She covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide as Raven and Crow bust into laughter.

Odin stared at the ceiling as Ava asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, refusing to look her in the eye. He got up shakily. “L-Let’s go again.”

She stepped from side to side, asking, “Are you sure?”

He didn’t speak, only dropped his gaze towards his sisters. Even Magpie watched, hand covering her mouth to stifle her laugh.

They didn’t wait for his sister’s pestering this time. Ava acted quickly when his arm reached for her, grabbing his arm and bringing him to the ground once more. He didn’t wait for a fair pause in the match, instead shoving at her ankle with enough force to cause her to fall onto her back.

The struggle was short-lived when she pinned his wrists. With an Empress’ righteous fury, she knelt upright, gold sclera blazing as she snarled, “Just give up! You know you can’t win!”

“Fuck n-no!” he shot back, squirming to be freed of her grip.

Raven and Crow erupted in giggles, eyeing each other as Raven snickered, “Oo _ooo_ , now he’s cuss _ing_.”

“Ava, be careful, he’s gonna start crying if he gets too mad,” Crow added deviously.

The redhead ignored the both of them, bared teeth begging to hiss at the taller boy as they stepped around each other in this game of two predators.

It was all she heard, blood moving, spines cracking, and her fury; forever roaring inside this devil of a girl.

Odin lunged forward, but instead of going for her shoulder like she anticipated, he grabbed her horn, yanking with enough force to cause her to yelp in pain. In a flash of wild scathing red and yellowed teeth, she instinctively reached behind his head, grabbing a fistful of black hair and pulling until he was on the same level as her.

“Let. Go,” she seethed, flinching at the white hot pain in her horn. A foamy slaver of magma dripped from her mouth, falling onto his wrist with a wet sizzle.

He winced, choking back a yell as she tightened her grip on his hair.

“You l-let go first.”

Raven spoke up timidly, “Um, you don’t have to fight anymore…”

Crow joined in quickly, “Yeah, we don’t need a winner.”

As if that circular rug were its own planet, far off and in another galaxy, they continued to circle each other, both refusing to release their hold on the other.

Ava, from the corner of her eye, drew in a deep breath, raising her other hand and intending to slash at his face when they were interrupted by the bark of Olai.

“’The  _hell_ are you two doing?” he shouted, pulling both of them apart. Magpie stood to the side, clutching at the collar of her shirt in concern. In the fight’s spiral she had sent for her brother, bringing him to the living room in fear that the two would hurt themselves. Olai used his arm to shove Odin aside, speaking sternly, “We don’t do that shit in this house.” He turned to Ava, whose eyes were unnaturally alien and profound in the last rays of sunset. “You,” he said, snapping his fingers, “go in the kitchen and cool down.” 

Livid, Ava stormed away, not bothering to protest his order. She made sure to shoot Odin a vicious look before exiting the living room.

She sat in the dining room, scratching her clawed nails down the table. It became so quiet in her solitude that she could hear the grandfather clock in the hall tick. She waited, and waited, and waited for that clock to strike the next hour, but time was moving incredibly slow when all she wanted to do was take her wrath out on something,  _anything_.

Or  _anyone_.

How could he? she thought, raking her nails fiercely down the table. They were suppose to be a team. They had been in sync ever since she came here, ever since their dreams became closer and closer until-

She halted, going still.

Until they stopped sharing dreams.

When she couldn’t take it anymore, Ava abandoned her post in the dining room and went outside through the kitchen’s screen door.

It was cold, much colder than the night before, despite the snow having briefly melted.

It didn’t help that she wasn’t wearing shoes as her bare feet crunched against the unwelcoming, hardened grass.

Feeling the sharp of this sudden cold, Ava continued aimlessly, walking down the hillside, scorching the ground with her alien heat. She trudged past the shed, through the orchard, swiping at every thorn and tree branch in her way. The universe supposedly should be grateful that she was alone. The volcano was tipping dangerously close.

Ava heard him before she saw him. He was swearing under his breath, and with each nasty word, the shattering of glass would follow. She marched straight for the sound, storming around a corner until she saw the teenager throwing rocks into the window of a deserted shed. He seethed aloud to thin air, “I’d r-r-rather die than-”

“You are a  _child_ ,” she snapped at him.

Odin spun around, nearly losing his hold on the rock in his hand, fumbling for it midair before it could fall to the ground.

Ava circled him from a distance, the ache in her horn still hot and fresh with the memory, her fury being rekindled like a lit match placed just above kerosene.

“You immature, childish-”

She paused, a mess of words running into each other before she finally blurted out, “I get it now! I get why your family doesn’t trust you with anything! You’re, you’re immature!”

Odin gawked at her as she trampled through the tall grass, the flash of red hair catching in the sunset’s light between pine trees.

“You’re eighteen years old!” she shouted, hands balled at her sides. “Grow up!”

Odin took a step forward, responding with forced apathy, “How long have y-you been here? A m-month?”

He drew closer, stumbling in the grass.

“You don’t kn-know anything. About m-me. About my f-f-family.”

Ava was wicked in her reply, smiling sweetly with a mouthful of daggers.

“I’ve seen enough to know you’re trying too hard.”

She smoothed out her dress, continuing, “You pretend to be better than everyone, but really, you’re not Odin. You’re just fooling yourself.”

He blinked, staring, then shook his head, stammering, “Are y-you s-s- _serious_? What are you t-talking about?”

The redhead didn’t reply, only stood apart from him, arms crossed.

He clutched at the rock in his hand, spinning around and throwing it into the trees behind them. He moved from side to side, as if he didn’t know what to do, as if caged behind some unseen bars when he looked up, yelling at thin air, “You don’t th-think I kn-know that?!”

Ava flinched at the outburst, then looked at him in confusion.

He wasn’t yelling at her.

“Just, sh-shut up!”

Ava took a step back. An old, innate fear of the unknown made her believe any moment she would see him, see Odin’s drawing come to life and reach out for her.

He spun on her, snapping his fingers and throwing out his hand.

“ **Don’t**  m-move.”

“Why?” she asked, going tense. 

“There’s br-broken glass everywhere,” he said, but it was too late. The girl’s heel landed on a fragment, cracking sharply under her bare foot. She felt the warmth of blood before the initial pain. Hopping on one foot, she lifted the other, examining it to see the glass buried into her flesh.

Odin sighed.

“It c-cut you, didn’t it.”

Ava nodded but that too was lost as he barked at empty nothingness again.

“Don’t t-touch her!”

The sickness to her stomach doubled, worse than the blood coursing down her foot, worse than the cold of this inescapable winter. The redhead tried shuffling away, but the effort was weak in her limp.

The look on Odin’s face as he approached her said nothing short of disgust, but still, she couldn’t help but search for some ghost caught between this life and the next. He stooped, scooping the small girl in his arms to walk away from the scene, saying, “Don’t w-worry. I’ll go b-back to ignoring you by m-m-morning.”

Ava tensed as he made way through the orchard.

Her arm was caught uncomfortably between the ring around his neck and his chest, and she shouldered away to free it when Odin halted, spinning around and yelling, “I’m n-not gonna dr-drop your goddamn wife.” Ava’s eyes closed shut as she covered them with her hands, her face burning with each step he took that by the time they reached the back porch, she pushed away, lowering herself to the ground with shaky knees.

Odin rubbed at the back of his head, watching her stagger up the steps on her uninjured foot. It would heal soon, they knew this, but the rift dividing them was still there, bleak and confusing.

He followed, peering behind him for any sign of the wraith. The wind howled, sad and persistent, causing the last of the thin leaves to shake loose from the orchard. He watched them tumble and disappear out of view. He had seen the sky like this before, grey and on the brink, howling out its warning to this planet’s inhabitants. Years ago, on an evening eerily like this one, he had planned his escape from home, from his family. When he entered the kitchen, he found a single blood-red footprint trail into the downstairs bathroom.

The door was open, so quietly and with discretion, he walked in, shutting the door behind him.

She was sitting on the bathtub’s edge, not bothering to look up as she concentrated on picking fragments of glass from her foot.

“This would be a great time for an apology,” she announced, placing a shard unto the floor, its heat from her body hissing on the cold tile.

Odin glared, replying, “I didn’t p-push you into the glass-”

“Not the glass,” she shot back, raising her head to face him. The pupils narrowed, focusing on his familiar face. “Apologize for your temper tantrum earlier.”

He raised his brows, then laughed, short and bitter, nearly jumping out of his skin in the way his nerves had met their end. The nights of insomnia, of void, restless sleep crept up on him as he spoke.

“You w-want to talk about t-temper tantrums? Alright.”

He took a seat on the toilet lid beside the tub, leaning in so close that when she looked up they were nose to nose.

“Let’s t-talk about your ‘temper tantrum’ at Titan’s H-Headquarters,” he whispered darkly.

Ava dropped her voice, resisting the urge to melt the bathtub out of simple, childish spite.

“That’s different, and you know it. That was chaos, and- and I couldn’t help it.”

Odin rolled his eyes, throwing his head back to face the ceiling. It was happening again, she realized. Except this time her hated reflection was staring at her in a dozen shards of glass, in a revered friend’s pale throat, in the unrelenting wind outside.

“Y-You’re still angry,” he said.

“Of  _course_  I am!” she seethed, wiping away the spit from her mouth. She spoke lower, the bite to her words real and raw, “I am fucking angry, and none of you seem to care all that much.”

“You’re mad b-because we’re not  _scared_  of you?” he questioned, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“No!” she shot back, trying to concentrate on the pain of her foot and not her horrible, horrible reflection.

“Then  _what_? Wh-Why are you angry? Why are you being s-so hateful-”

Ava cried, “Because I’d rather be angry than sad!” She yanked another piece of glass, screeching from the back of her throat as it tore through her skin, causing fresh blood to gush freely. She hurriedly wiped at the tears in her eyes, adding, “I’d rather be mean and hateful than feel sorry for myself.”

She worked on removing the last piece, the smallest, most antagonizing shard as it disappeared further into the soft underside of her foot. His silence as he watched her was almost satisfying, she believed. It only confirmed what made her cry at night.

No one can help you. No one can save you.

The silence.

Whatever ancient rage festered inside, whatever was rotting, spoiling any semblance of hope and friendship she was presented with, was getting too sick for this body. She could see it, the teeth and smile and marrow of a broken neck as it spilled forth, ugly and unwanted.

 _Yes, people should be afraid of me_ , the volcano seeped, oozing forth with its redundant pestilence.  

“Well, I’m n-not scared of you.”

Ava startled, feeling the pulse quicken in her wound. She wanted to ask him if he’d just been in her thoughts when he reached into his pocket, pulling out his pocketknife and exposing the blade. He was slow as he knelt on one knee, placing her foot in his palm and ducking his head to examine the cut.

She watched as he carefully pried the glass out with the knife’s tip.

“I could burn down your house.”

He said nothing.

“I could destroy the forests.”

The words fell short, and so she too remained in silence, jerking when the sharp of the knife dug too deep.

“S-Sorry.”

Their eyes met for a moment before Odin finally freed the jagged glass from her foot.

“F-For everything,” he admitted, placing the shard into the bloody pile. “I’m s-sorry.”

He glanced at the door, expecting to see his family scold him for an apology he knew was long overdue, but he could see nothing but the splintered wood, closing them off from the approaching winter storm.

Ava nodded, speaking with her hands in her lap.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Odin?” she asked when he stood before her. “Are we friends?”

He answered with a small, lopsided smile, “Yes. I th-think so.”

The red on his hands, something she was so used to seeing on her own body, looked bizarre and unreal to be on another’s hands. It covered the thinness of each bone, across the stretch of tendons until she could even see it seep into the pores.

“Please wash the blood off,” she stated when she couldn’t stand to see it on him any longer.

He turned them over, following her in agreement as he reached behind her to turn on the bath’s faucet. She met his hands under the running water to wash herself of this blood too.

This close, she could hear it, that rhythm she had memorized so well coming from his ribcage. She smiled softly, but frowned when it began to beat off tempo.

“Are you sick?” she asked in concern.

“Hmm?” He was picking underneath his nails.

“Your heart, it’s beating off key.”

Odin shrugged, unsure of what she meant. The last of the blood swirled down the drain.

“It’s probably just anxiety,” he concluded.

“You’re not sure about that,” Ava remarked calmly. 

When he didn’t answer, Ava studied him closer, retracing the last few days. They all seemed to blur into one, as falling into habit so consequently did. He hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, but did he eat it the morning before? What about the persistent cough, always racking through him when he laughed or went outside to smoke.

How long had this been going on, she asked of herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he stood back, wiping his hands dry on the towel hanging near the tub. He handed it to her, exiting the bathroom when Ava stood, joining him in the doorway.

“Outside, you said something,” she began, getting his attention. “You said, ‘I’d rather die than.’ What were you going to say?”

Odin looked to his hands, running his thumb over the scar she had given him weeks earlier.

“I was t-talking to Pedri.”

He spoke so only she could hear, the words for her alone and this haunted home and every ghost that wished to listen.

“I’d rather d-die than pact with h-him.”

Ava asked, hands folded to her chest, “Do you mean that?”

He nodded, stepping back.

“Y-Yes.”

She watched him walk away, his voice staying with her even after he left the hall.

“I do.”

———————-

The night of the season’s first snowstorm rolled in like all dangerous, yet beautiful, marvels to be feared: quietly and with no warning.

She was grateful for the peace she found in his room, in ways she couldn’t explain. They laid on the bed, speaking in hushed voices, going silent at times to hear the outside winds push and rattle against his window.

They laid in opposite directions, the wool of her socks bunched at his shoulder, the knob of his bony knee digging into the side of her head as his hand rested on her leg, cold compared to her constant warmth.

“Do you see those little lights on your ceiling?” she whispered.

Odin’s eyes roamed, squinting until he could see the faintest glimmering speck.

“Yeah,” he breathed, tilting his head. “Wh-What are those?”

“Fireflies,” she answered.

He laughed. “No th-they’re not.”

“No,” she agreed. “They’re actually very small holes in the ceiling.”

She sighed in content.

“But I like to think they’re fireflies.”

“Wait t-til Spring,” he said. “Then you’ll s-see real fireflies.”

Ava rolled her head, facing the wall. She didn’t mean for the words to be spoken so shakily, so out of her control.

“I don’t know if I’ll be here in the Spring.”

The wind lamented, howling long and low in the frozen tundra outside.

“Right,” he said solemnly. “Your P-Pact.”

“But you could come with me!” she implored, sitting up. “We can work as a team, we can find new recruits together and-”

He shook his head, closing his eyes. “I c-can’t. I’m needed h-here.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping when she reached out to touch the scar, barely visible, she had left on his hand. When her sunlit warmth reached him, Odin sat up, moving closer to her.

Ava went still, eyes wide as she looked to the side.

“What are you doing?” she sputtered, jumbling her words into each other.

Odin halted, mirroring her surprise as he stammered, “Um, I, I, I w-was-”

He pulled back, his face turning a bright shade of fuchsia.

Ava’s mouth twitched into a smile as she asked once more, “Were you going to kiss me?”

She couldn’t help her smile when he covered his face, trying to hide the fervent blush.

“I sh-shouldn’t have d-done that,” he stated weakly, his own laugh mixing into his words as Ava quickly pulled away his hands, chiming, “No, no, it’s okay.”

“Look.” She cupped his face between her hands, the pair of them nearly bursting at the seams. “I’m nervous! I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

She looked at the patterned quilt beneath them, with its worn edges and loved memories, and when she tilted her chin to face him, the nerves pushed her into leaning foward, giving him a kiss on the mouth before drawing back, shaking from her nerves.

He returned the smile on her face, but before the laugh lines could reach his eyes, he faltered, turning to the side and coughing into his hand.

Ava sat back on her heels, her concern growing with each cough.

“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning to the side.

“I c-can’t breathe,” he gasped. He too seemed to be in disbelief at the words, staring wide eyed into the bed.

She brought herself to her knees, putting a hand on his shoulder when he suddenly lurched forward, sputtering droplets of violet onto the bed.

She just stared, her jaw unhinged in shock, blankly, ever blankly at the splatters of blood on the jumping foxes.

One fox, two fox, three fox…

He covered his mouth, clutching at his chest before choking out, “Get-g-get-” He coughed again, bringing tears to his eyes as he tried desperately to get air in his lungs. “Help.”

The plea sent in her in motion as she scrambled off the bed, nearly falling onto the floor as she opened the door, letting it slam against the wall. She flew down the hall, nails raking over the banister as she propelled past it, each rushed step down the stairs taking too painstakingly long. She tripped over the last stair, and it was only when she was in Olai’s bedroom, tearing away his bed-sheets that she realized she was crying.

He woke, immediately alert to her presence as the girl pleaded with him, “There’s something wrong! Help, hurry-”

“Who?” he asked, already out of bed and taking long, determined strides through the house. She followed, exclaiming, “Odin, he’s, he’s- he can’t breathe!” 

Olai entered his brother’s room, going straight for the younger Arrow as he laid there, eyes closed tightly shut, every passing second making it harder and harder for him to breathe.

“What’s wrong with him?” she cried, pacing back and forth. Odin tried to say something but could only wheeze. He grasped at Olai’s shirt, who hovered over him. 

Odin scraped his nails over his chest, then at his throat as tears collected alongside his head, running just as easily as the violet blood from his mouth. Olai tipped his brother’s head back, trying to find the cause, trying to let air in his lungs when Odin’s head rolled limply.

She could hear it, that fatal drum of his heart desperately trying to fight whatever was killing him from the inside out.

The nightmare was happening again. The pale of his throat. The unnatural brokenness of his body. The blood on her hands as she realized they were speckled with dark purple.

The nightmare was happening.

Except this time she was awake.

“Fuckin’, there’s somethin’ blocking his windpipe.”

Olai didn’t disintegrate in the moment, using one hand to put pressure on his brother’s chest and the other to blindly pull free the drawer to the nightstand beside him. It crashed to the floor, scattering its contents.

“Don’t just stand there!” he yelled at her. Ava jumped as he continued, “Get me something sharp! Quick!”

She fell to her knees, moving and shoving objects apart until finding his pocketknife.

The girl scrambled upwards, using the bed covers to pick herself up, the knife shaking in her outstretched hand.

Olai snatched the knife from her, exposing the blade with a flick of his wrist. His heart was failing, and in its determination, Odin scrambled to free himself of Olai’s weight. His older brother grabbed at his jaw, speaking lowly, “Stop. Panicking.”

Ava backed away. His next words sent a sliver of fear down her spine, igniting that old, almost forgotten pinprick of cold.

“It’ll be quick,” Olai told him before cutting open his throat in one clean swipe.

She turned on her heel to face the wall, covering her mouth to contain the scream. Despite this, it still echoed in her hands, turned sodden wet through the tears.

There was the sound of gagging, the awful, awful sound of something wet being pulled apart.

She covered her head, pleading,  _Wake up, wake up, wake up…_

_This isn’t a dream._

She couldn’t bear it any longer when liquid, hot and fresh, splashed unto her leg. Gagging, Ava reached for the door handle with every intention of fleeing when it turned, opening to reveal Magpie’s sleepy face.

“Ava? What’s going on-”

Ava wished she could have shielded her away in time, but the girl’s eyes fell on the sight of her brother; a mess of blood and torn skin and closed eyes.

The scream was so piercing that Ava covered her ears, moving and shoving in front of her as Olai shouted above the cry, “Get out! Get her out!”

Ava slammed the door behind her, unable to avoid a glimpse of shiny violet spilled on his bed.

Magpie grasped at the other girl’s arms, taking short raspy breaths, as she struggled forward, calling, “Odin? Odin!”

Ava tightened her hold, but the sickness in her gut was causing it all to swim; the floor, the ceiling, the pictures hanging on the walls that told such a different story than the nightmare happening in the bedroom behind them.

“I need to see him!” Magpie implored.

“No, no, you can’t,” Ava replied, but her voice was distant as she staggered side to side.

“Why was there blood? Tell me!”

The words were met with a loud thud on the floor in Odin’s room, followed by Olai’s string of swears.

“ _Move_!” she exclaimed at the redhead.

Ava shook her head.

“You can’t.”

“Tell me why then!” she shot back, her nails digging into Ava’s arms.

Ava yelled her answer, a fresh sting of tears forming in her eyes, “I don’t know!”

They hadn’t realized the twins were at the end of the hall, arms linked, watching with two pairs of fearful eyes.

“What’s going on?” Crow asked.

Odin’s bedroom door flew open. Olai stepped forward, shutting it behind him before anyone could see inside.

His tone was forceful and direct as he spoke, “ _No_  one goes in there.”

He looked at all four of them, one by one, then said once more, “That room is off-limits until this is sorted out.”

Magpie blurted out, her whole body shaking, “Is he alive?”

Olai nodded. She returned his nod, then dropped her face in her hands, sobbing in relief.

Olai ushered her and the twins downstairs, then turned on Ava, stalking towards her with an intensity she had seen only when on a hunt. He grabbed her upper arm, yanking her into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He pulled at the light’s chain in one swift motion before demanding, “You have better give me answers. Start explaining.”

Ava drew in on herself, stating as directly as she could, “I kissed him.”

When she realized the weight of those words, what had happened after her lips met his, she broke down, gasping for air with each and every sob.

“Stop,” he stated, shaking his head. “Kissing disease is one thing, but what I just pulled from his throat…” He ran his hand down his face. “Did you have anything to do with this? You better tell me now, and I mean  _right_  now.”

Ava tugged at the roots of her hair, retracing her steps, remembering the days of tiredness leading to this.

How they fell out of sync when they stopped sharing dreams.

How they performed Wrathia’s spell under the cover of night.

How his body had grown weaker as the winter winds waned on.

“I need to go to sleep,” she breathed. 

“ _What?_ ” Olai entreated before being shoved out of the bathroom. She locked the door, ignoring his fists slamming the door. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he said, his voice muffled. 

Ava paced the bathroom, shaking out her hands, unable to find the time to go to sleep naturally in her hurry. She looked in the mirror, seeing the horns, the magma’s roll throughout her face, the gold, the gold, the gold-

She halted.  _The gold._

The girl dropped to her knees, examining the bathtub’s golden foot, shining in the light’s expectant glare. She reached for it, holding onto the side of the tub and pulled with all her force, repeating, “C’mon c’mon  _c’mon_ -” until it finally gave way with a crack. She stood, holding the golden claw in her hand, seeing that same unavoidable reflection in its wake.

She closed her eyes, and with a final, conscious breath, Ava Ire raised the claw to her skull, knocking herself into a state of forced darkness.

———————–

“Wrathia!”

She was frantic, tumbling and sprinting through her mind, searching behind every block and corner.

“ _Wrathia_!”

“Quit your yelling!” 

Ava turned, lifting herself over a giant crayon to follow the voice. It’s wax melted upon her touch, causing her to slip and fall to the ground. She picked herself up hastily, stepping down a narrow staircase. The walls trickled lava, illuminating the dark recesses of her mind where she found Wrathia.

Immediately Ava began speaking, panting, “Odin, there’s something wrong, he’s, he started coughing blood, I think he’s-”

“Dying?” Wrathia said. She snipped at pieces of purple fabric, her pipe hanging lazily from her mouth. 

“Yes, but, how did you know?” 

“I know what you know,” Wrathia answered, tilting her head at the fabric’s dark sheen. 

Time was running out, and Ava spoke again impatiently, “I need to help him, to save him…” She narrowed her eyes at the Vengess, asking with biting force, “What are you doing?”

Tossing the satin over a chair, Wrathia took a seat, rolling her eyes.

“Preparing to meet my husband after fifteen years of being apart.”

“ _What?_ ” Ava hissed, shaking her head and continuing as if she hadn’t heard, “No, listen, Odin is dying, there has to be some way to heal him-”

Wrathia cocked a brow, emitting a short, amused laugh.

“This  _is_  helping him. He will pact with my husband Pedri. All we have to do is wait for the inevitable.”

The lava begin dripping more urgently now, from the floor, the walls, the ceiling above them. Ava shook her head, curling her hands into the air as she stated, clear and precise, “No. Odin will not pact.”

Wrathia rubbed her temple, then let her hand fall to the chair’s arm, clicking her nails against it.

“And  _you’re_  the deciding factor in his decision?” she replied.

“No,” Ava stated, coming closer with her hand over her heart. “He told  _me_. He said he’d rather die than pact.”

Wrathia exhaled forcefully, hissing a curse as she mumbled, “Then that spell was a damn waste.”

Ava laughed, yet she wasn’t sure why. Nothing was funny. The walls crashing in, the brakes being applied full force, none of it was funny. Her friend was either dead or on the verge of becoming a corpse.

She repeated the word, but it felt sickly rotten as it rolled off her tongue.

“Spell?”

Wrathia watched as the teenager’s skin darkened into a disturbing shade of red, the scars brightening like glowflies when she spoke once more, “The spell to stop us from sharing dreams?”

_Spill shared blood together._

“Wrathia? What was in that vial?”

It was spinning, her own mind, where she should have been safe. It was crashing to the point of no control.

Her own ignorance at trusting the devil, at trusting  _herself_ , to help a friend was catching fire right before her eyes.

“That wasn’t a spell for dreaming, was it?” she asked, staring at the floor, her balled fists shaking by her sides. She dug her nails so intensely into her skin that it broke, hot, black blood coming forth. 

It was rotten. She had been letting the disease do as it so pleased.

Wrathia tutted under her breath.

“No, Ava. It was a killing curse.” She dragged a long take of purple smoke, exhaling to the side, then tapped the pipe against her chair. 

“He was choking,” she stated. “He couldn’t breathe.”

“Then the spell did its job,” the Empress concluded. “He breathed in the poison, and poppies grew from his lungs.”

It was with those final words that the volcano erupted, and the eyes of the damned gazed upon her, mourning their inferiority, for the Sun is always Just in her fury, Righteous without cause.

She lunged, kicking back the chair so it fell to the floor. On her back, Wrathia screamed at the girl, who hovered over her with blackened claws.

“Quit being so overdramatic! He’s a boy! What value does he have?”

The answer was for Ava, and her alone, as she said, “He’s my friend.”

Wrathia was relentless, spitting, “We are running out of time, stupid girl. This body isn’t meant to last forever, and I have been unspeakably patient with your senseless playtime with the boy.”

“I don’t care!” Ava screeched. The magma poured white hot, cascading and leaking from the creaking wood panels. “If that’s our punishment, to turn into a monster, then let it happen! I don’t care!”

She reared back, hating herself for the tears and hating what she had done to him. “You saw another pawn to your games! That’s all this was, from the start! He was expendable!”

“I’m  **not**  going to be fused with a screaming brat for the rest of eternity, so if it means sacrificing the old life of a teenage boy, then yes, fine, he is expendable!”

Wrathia sat upright, curling her claws before fluttering her eyes to the ceiling with a cruel grin.

“I’m so nervous!” she mocked, replicating Ava’s voice with forced pitch. “I’ve never kissed anyone before!”

The girl turned, taking quick, uneven breaths, despising the hot, unwanted tears forming as her demon taunted, “Listen to you! It is pathetic. You want to be loved so badly. It’s sickening. No one could ever love you.”

Wrathia raised her arms, imploring her to look.

“I know, because I’ve been here since the very beginning.”

“Really, Ava,” she continued once the flames had finished their uncontrollable siege. “If you had followed my instructions, your friend wouldn’t have suffered the way he did.” 

The lava pooled at their feet, as she questioned, “Wh…What?”

“I said kiss him to complete the spell. You didn’t. That was the killing kiss, the one to make it quick and painless.”

Wrathia shook her head with shame at the girl.

“You only prolonged his agony because you didn’t listen to me.”

Ava turned, the images replaying over and over in her memory like a taunt.

He stopped sleeping, stopped dreaming, stopped eating, and was hiding it from everyone.

How much pain had he been masking this whole time?

It was the cold of his lips against her’s that caused her to wake up.

———————

She blinked against the morning light. She found the cold against her lips to be the bathroom’s tiled floor, where she had been laying unconscious, her sore body left undisturbed.

Ava stood, rubbing at her pounding head and grasping for the sink, trying to make out the light and shadows around her. The creature in the mirror stared lifelessly at her. She peered closer, then saw the source of the thrumming pain. Her left horn was cracked at its base; dried, healing blood already trying to seal the fracture. It hurt to look at, and hurt even worse to touch as she rubbed at the smear of blood going down her face.

She glanced outside, not only catching a glimpse of the freshly fallen snow, but a plume of red smoke rising into the sky. She tried to find its source, but unable to see around the corner, Ava left the bathroom, stepping as quietly as she could through the house.

It was empty, and for a moment, she feared the Arrow family had packed their things and left.

She stepped outside. Olai stood there, a tall, lone figure looming beside a fire. When he realized it was her, he spoke out, “Never gonna believe what it was in his throat.”

He tossed a flower, sick and gnarled, into the fire.

“Poppies. Just, growing right outta his lungs.”

Another flower fell into the open flame, sending ashen red smoke upwards.

Ava watched that crimson ash crackle, popping as he spoke once more, “Now here’s the funny thing.” He looked up with a predator’s smile.

“Didn’t you say poppies were your favorite flower?”

They stared at each other, the smoke rising to some far off place.

He dropped his chin to his chest, chuckling to himself as he dropped a petal. It fluttered helplessly into the heat, burning to a crisp in a matter of moments.

“Poppies,” he repeated. “Funny isn’t it, the flower of eternal sleep.”

Ava back away, retreating back into the house, when he called out tersely, “You’re not a God.”

Ava stopped, listening as he decided aloud, “You’re just a destructive little girl with too much blood on her hands.”

With that, she knew what to do, taking one step in front of another.

Don’t think about it, she begged of herself. Just act, don’t think.

You knew this would have to happen eventually.

She heard the crying from Magpie’s room, but walked right past it.

Don’t think about it.

Carefully, so as not to make a sound, Ava opened the door to Odin’s room, closing it shut after standing in the stillness.

She meant to walk in the room, gather her things, and go without looking at him but her eyes betrayed her, unable to help herself as she watched him lay there under clean bed sheets.

The fox blanket was gone, and the thought of its childish, soft patterns made her eyes well with bleariness. She wiped at them forcefully, gathering her coat and hat and snow boots, hastily putting them on as he slept. The white gauze wrapped around his throat was her fault, she believed.

The pain she had brought into this house was all of her own doing. She had brought this curse, and let it rot and fester in this home. She could see it, and the omen screamed at her, Ava Ire is a bethel of flies, a chapel of bad, unwanted feelings.

What a disaster she had brought upon this home.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, slow tears rolling down her face. Her stride faltered when she saw the tiny scar on his hand, the one that just couldn’t heal. A bruised part of her heart wanted to believe it was because his body found no fault in her, no reason to completely heal the wound she caused.

It was a good lie, she told herself, as her fingers skimmed over the scar before letting go.

The sound of the door shutting behind her woke him. He breathed in the familiar smoky sillage she left behind, a pair of different, red alien eyes drawing into focus before shutting once more, bringing him into a graveyard of a mind where a childhood monster was waiting for him.

When he woke, his body freed of the poppy’s toxin, it would be too late.

She was gone.

The winter had fulfilled its purpose, bleeding dry any sign of life it could take, its greed laying waste to the land.

The wind howled, whirling snow around the tiny figure of a runaway girl. It cried, “She’s not coming back,” to which she recited with her own silent reply: “He won’t follow.”

By nightfall, her tracks would have been erased by the snow, making it impossible to ever find her again. 

It is the silent walk we all adhere to, in the finality of days.

She walked the marching line alone, leaving behind dreams of fireflies and jumping foxes.


End file.
